I see your mood is sad. I will send you a poem and you will magically feel better......Maybe not, but it will be a diversion. I can't message anyone till I hit 15 posts...<dramatic eye roll>
"King of the lot"
I have a small lot, I call it my home,
Where the grass is all dead, and I sit on my throne.
All the street's children do pass by and by.
But not ever a one, stop's to say hi.
A weird duck I am, and cluck quite a lot,
Alone in this prison, sunning a rock.
They think I'm human, but a reptile am I.
Watching them all, with my unblinking eye's.
Shaded dark sunglasses. Mug of coffee in hand.
Sharpening sticks, With unsteady hands.
The traffic drives by, I get quite a lot.
In front of the playpen, that I call my lot.
Catcalls and whistles, and mean, hostile stares,
If only they knew, what awaited them here.
My lot so you see is not just a lot.
Its a place that I go to hunt and to stalk.
A jolly old place and that place it is I.
A place to sharpen sticks, drink coffee and die.